


these, our bodies possessed by light

by procutemeister



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Eventual Romance, F/M, Inspired by One Thousand and One Nights, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Witch!Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27505651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procutemeister/pseuds/procutemeister
Summary: The city of Red Grave has been defeated; Urizen, the devil king, has risen. No warriors have been able to best him, and countless lives have been offered to him in sacrifice. They say the devil king’s bloodlust is boundless… And you, last of the witches of Red Grave, are his betrothed.(Vergil x F!Reader, with some V x F!Reader. Arranged marriage AU, with elements of Beauty and the Beast and 1001 Nights. An attempt to give Urizen some personality. Romance, eventually.)
Relationships: V (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Vergil (Devil May Cry)/You
Comments: 28
Kudos: 97





	1. land a man in a landscape and he’ll try to conquer it

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is probably my first multi-chapter fic in... well, ever, and my first after a long break from writing, so hopefully this is bearable. anyway, i wanted to post this to commemorate the release of DMC5SE! i don't have it or the vergil DLC yet, so... i'll try incorporating elements from it in future chapters. feedback is greatly appreciated. <3
> 
> the title is taken from [_scheherazade_](https://apoemaday.tumblr.com/post/187842955734/scheherazade) by richard siken.
> 
> eta: i drew an illustration inspired by this fic! check it out on my tumblr [here.](https://the-professional-cutemeister.tumblr.com/post/635410258191400960/i-finished-this-drawing-3-i-like-to-think-that) <3

Today was to be your wedding day.

Soon to be married to the devil king, all you could feel was trepidation and fear. Your marriage was not one for love, far from it; it was a marriage of compromise. Of sacrifice.

An offering of your life, for peace between the humans and demons, a reprieve from the cruelties of hell on earth.

 _You have a responsibility,_ your aunt told you as you dressed in the nicest dress you owned. _It’s an honor, to have so great a task bestowed upon you._

 _I am going to die,_ you wanted to say. Your finest dress would become your funeral gown.

As one of the last witches, you were offered to the devil. With your unique abilities, the people of Red Grave hoped that you might find a way to end the devil king’s reign of terror. While it was true that you possessed some magical power, you were experienced mostly with healing and incantations, rather than combat magic.

You had met the man—if he could be called that—who was to be your husband only once before. You were relieved that at least, you would not have to live in the Underworld for this union; you would live in a palace that remained on earth.

No man nor demon on this world or the one beneath could face him. The people were sure that his was the wrath of a god, unleashed upon a defenseless humanity, and that such a great and terrible god could only be sated by the ultimate sacrifice, the gift of life.

However, you remembered that day—meeting your betrothed, slouched on his throne as you were presented to him. He had not been any more amenable to the marriage than you were. Impossibly tall, his features masked by demonic armor, you had been unnerved at the sight of him. You recoiled when you imagined the marriage bed—you could not possibly be expected to perform the wifely duties for such a creature, could you? He looked utterly monstrous to your human eyes: a twisted appearance, his body the color of brimstone and blood and covered in roots and thorns.

His voice was inhumanly deep and rattled your very bones.

“Is this to be my bride? A human?”

Despite yourself, you froze like a rabbit faced by the wolf. Your heart thundered and you could not help but cower, because what defense did you have against this creature?

You let your eyes settle on him. You could not discern even a hint of humanity in him, only the cruel cold glow of blue light in the gnarls of his skin, the suggestion of a crown by the thorns on his brow. There was no soul in those eyes.

The man beside you quailed, though he had been the one who had arranged all this. He said, “This is an offering from the humans. One of our most precious—one of our own. A great sacrifice.”

You were hardly as great an offering as he made you out to be. You were no virginal young maiden, no legendary beauty, nor the prized first daughter of a proud and subjugated lord. Your life and your body were being thrown away to sate the bloodthirst of a devil that did not even desire you. What use were you, really, to him?

He seemed to consider this. “I could kill her,” he said, “the night we are married. I have no use for human scum.”

Your blood ran cold. He couldn’t possibly—but this was a devil, not just any devil, but the king of them. You would not put it past him to kill you in cold blood. You knew that devils would not hesitate to execute any mortal that dared displease them.

And those who had come to his house before you, all killed by his hand, were the evidence: warriors that dared take arms against him, spies who attempted to undermine his power from the inside, and others like you, who had been offerings from their own hometowns. They, too, had been sacrificial lambs, offered to the demon king in a desperate bid for the legions of hell to stop ravaging the land, misguided appeals to the devil king’s nonexistent mercy. You knew not why those women had been deemed unsatisfactory, nor how many they numbered, only that they had all failed to suppress the devil king’s thirst for blood.

Rumors abound that he took wives not for procreation nor for pleasure, but for his own sadistic, murderous desires. Some lived for quite a while, others only a single day before being executed. But they all ended up the same way: dead.

Today, at your wedding, you had to find out how you could stay alive.

Before you left, you recited a spell of protection for yourself, so that you might not come to harm. You spoke the incantation from your memory as easily as you read it from a book, the familiar words and energy of the magic calming your mind. You pulled out a pendant you wore around your neck, a simple crystal you had infused with dormant power. This you poured your protective ward into, then hid the pendant beneath your wedding clothes. Then, a prayer, to the spirits above and below, that your magic might hold, and your treacherous intentions remain obscure.

Your betrothed had made almost no arrangements for the ceremony, not that you thought demonic weddings were even supposed to exist, anyway. There was simply a minister who had administered the rite upon the both of you, reading aloud the marriage vows and presenting the documentation of your union. One other demon was present as your witness, and that was all. You found you much preferred this, if the alternative were to get married with the people’s eyes upon you, watching and complacent at your sacrifice.

Your husband was called Urizen. He remained seated and he spoke no more than was absolutely necessary. There was no reception after the ceremony, only a dispersal of the scant amount of demons in attendance.

He did not stay with you afterwards, either. In fact, you would not see him until well after night had fallen.

In the meantime you were introduced to your chambers. Possibly the only good thing about this was that you would be living in comfort, however short the rest of your life might be. The palace was an old one, standing centuries before your great-grandparents were ever born, and comprised of so many rooms and structures that you could conceivably take years to explore it all. It was clean, surprisingly so, but cold and empty. It did not have the life of servants bustling around, or any other residents. Or maybe it did, and you had not seen neither hide nor hair of them. The palace was certainly large enough.

Of note were the books in what you assumed to be your husband’s room. There was an astonishingly large amount, and when you looked, they were mostly fiction and poetry, contrary to what you had thought. Some titles you even recognized, and many were well-worn, obviously read several times.

It was a strange detail, you mused, that a devil with such disdain for humans would so readily consume their literature. It was something that had kept the gears of your mind turning the rest of the day. You had a way with words, and writing had always been one of your strengths. This, along with the way your magic manifested, would be the key to your survival.

In the evening you took dinner alone. Despite being human, you were still considered with some respect, as you were served delicious food in a large and ornate dining hall. You were just completely alone; even the demons that served you were mere mannequins, unable to speak or perform actions beyond their purpose. You had the feeling that your new husband did not like to populate his home very much. You weren’t sure if that were better or worse; surely there would be no one to witness or call out to if he attempted to murder you, and you doubted that anyone would even notice in such a situation.

After dinner you washed up, spending so long in the bath you were sure you would shrivel up like a prune. You didn’t want to think about what was to come once you headed to bed; Urizen had not yet returned from wherever he had gone.

With apprehension you left the bath and dressed for bed. You wore a long nightgown, one that covered your body as much as possible. You missed your corset and your layers that shielded your body, much better than a simple nightgown could. You climbed into the bed, a large, ornate affair carved from dark wood and curtained with damask. The bed was sinfully soft, and against your better judgment you found yourself slipping into sleep as you lay there, wrapped in blankets and exhausted from the day’s events.

* * *

You didn’t want to do this.

Terror clasped at your very bones as the plan was explained to you: you, the last witch remaining in Red Grave, would be sent tomorrow into the devil king’s lair under pretense of an offering, as many other towns and cities had attempted to do.

“Hide your magic,” your aunt told you. “Find out what you can about his protections.”

“Yield to his demands,” your uncle instructed you. “Do what you must to survive.” 

Numbly, you nodded, even as your veins ran cold.

“Your life is no longer your own,” they said. “The people of Red Grave count on you, now.”

The people of Red Grave had sent their men and women in futile attempts to fight the demon king. When that failed, they began to leave, or to bend the knee to cruel and demonic overlords. Some had fled to Fortuna, hoping that the supposed land of Sparda’s blessing would offer respite from the demonic invasion. Only a few years later was that hope disproven; demons installed themselves in that city’s highest of holy orders, and now Fortuna too bowed under the weight of hellish rule. Your parents had gone to war, too. They fought, and they died, and now you were expected to assume that burden.

You pressed a hand to the crystal that hung from your neck, a last gift from your mother, who taught you everything you know.

Then you silenced your fear. Outside, the summer flowers bloomed, mindless of the blood spilled on their grounds, and you promised upon your life to venture into the heart of the devil king.

* * *

You immediately woke at the opening of the door. You were still restless, after all. Moonlight still poured in through the window; you hadn’t been asleep long. The one who entered was a devil, one you recognized attending your wedding. From his chest he glowed orange, the light the color of molten rock, with an impressive set of wings extending from his back. He spoke:

“My lady. You are summoned to the throne room.”

You blanched at the address, though you expected it as befitting one who was the demon king’s wife. You supposed this made you a queen, but the title meant nothing when you felt like a prisoner. You were not allowed in the throne room, not unless you were explicitly summoned. Despite your position, you held no power in this place. All you had were your brains and the strength of your will.

“Y-Yes,” you wavered, and stood unsteadily, your hands wringing at the cloth of your nightgown. You followed the devil to the large room where Urizen stayed, dark save for the fireplace, kept lit with blue flames.

It was your husband, looking much the same as he had during your wedding. He still wore the same expression of cold indifference. At his side floated the ever-present red jewel, a mysterious object from which you could feel waves of strong demonic power. What manner of magic was it, you wondered?

“My lord husband,” you addressed him, taking a knee as you had been instructed to.

“Wife,” he grumbled, as if saying the word pained him. “Get up.”

You stood. Urizen was seated on his throne, one arm bending to support the chin, eyes skating over you to land on the flames in the fireplace as if you weren’t even there.

You had not moved. You bit your lip, wondering if what you had in mind would work, or if it were even sane. Once again, the image of the books next to the chair revived itself in your mind.

“My lord husband,” you said again, “may I interest you in a story?”

Your voice interrupted his brooding. He raised his head slowly from his hand, his face turning towards you in what looked like a silent fury. You hoped you hadn’t inadvertently angered him with your seemingly inane question.

“…A story?”

There it was, that deep, deep voice that sounded like the rumble of the earth itself. There was something strange in his tone: less animosity, something more akin to questioning. Maybe curiosity, if you were feeling generous.

“Yes,” you said, “I like to tell stories.”

You could barely keep the tremor from your own words. So far, he had done nothing, but Urizen still terrified you, as distant and dangerous as he was, the sound of his words before still echoing in your head.

_I could kill her the night we are married. I have no use for human scum._

You didn’t know if he was serious or not. Maybe for now he would keep you alive, or maybe he would murder you later.

“You realize this is no harmonious marriage,” he said. “You mean nothing to me. I do not care about your _stories.”_

He sneered the last word. You could not help but shiver, but your mind’s eye once again found those well-worn books, stories and poetry that were clearly loved and perused. How long had it been, you wondered, since he had cracked open a book?

You settled yourself next to his throne. Carefully you started to speak, weaving the story you had formed in your mind. You had always been a lover of art, of literature, and you had dedicated many years of study to the humanities. You felt you could put together a story that would keep his attention and weave your spell so that your husband would not lay a hand on you and—maybe—change his heart.

To your astonishment he made no move to stop you. On the contrary, he seemed like he was listening, though he never said a word and never did he turn those cold eyes towards you.

You felt your resolve waver, but you didn’t let yourself falter, not when you had lulled him into this strangely receptive mood with your words. You still feared the devil—after all, he could so easily kill you, and even slouched in his throne you felt the aura of death from him. The red crystal revolved, silent and dangerous.

You continued your tale. You told it all the way until you had reached the last of what you’d written. The hero had fled the destruction of his hometown and met a young woman to whom he’d recounted his tale. He felt torn between his need for vengeance and the feelings that were quickly growing for her.

“Is that all?” Urizen asked.

You looked out the east window. The sky was swathed in violet and edged in gold by the encroaching sun.

“Morning approaches, my lord husband,” you said. “The story must be continued the next evening—I haven’t slept.”

He grumbled, but made no further complaint. Then, “Get out.”

“My—”

“Return to your chambers. Bother me no further.”

You quickly stood, nodded, and nearly ran out of the throne room. You weren’t sure how long you ran, or if you were even going in the right direction, but you made it back eventually.

You closed the door behind you, chest heaving, and not only from the running. You felt like you had just escaped with your life, and when you clutched a hand to your chest, your heart was pounding. You clenched your fists, fear and anxiety knotting between your lungs.

Knees weakening, you fell back into the large, soft bed, trying to calm your racing heart. After tossing and turning you fell finally into a restless sleep.

* * *

The next morning you woke alone. So, he didn’t have you killed in your sleep, at least.

When you looked out the window the sun was already high in the sky. You’d slept in a little; considering how late you’d stayed up the previous night, telling your husband your story, it was to be expected.

You hadn’t been given any actual responsibilities in your new home. You had the distinct feeling that Urizen considered you little more than a nuisance in his home; a thing without real purpose here. It suited you just fine: the more invisible you were in this den of demons, the more likely you were to get out of this alive. And the longer you stayed, the more you would become acquainted with the devil king, and his weaknesses, no matter how small those might be. All you needed was a single chink in his armor, and you’d be able to work your magic.

Your husband, to your knowledge, had never left the throne room. You could not go to check; the red devil that had escorted you there the night before was also nowhere to be seen. Was he just a servant, you wondered, or something more? His presence at the wedding implied the latter.

With you thus unoccupied, you decided to fill your day with exploration. The palace was undoubtedly beautiful, and you wondered why a devil would take such a place as residence. Maybe it was a site of great demonic power…? The home of a conquered human lord? You would not put it past the devils to take a man’s home as a war trophy. You were simply astonished at the state the house had been left in: it was pristine, as if servants cleaned it every day, as if demonic forces had never breached its walls. The glass of all the windows remained intact, the floors sparkling; elegant curling columns reaching towards beautifully painted, vaulted ceilings, and stained glass throwing multicolored light against the walls.

Wandering the halls, you trailed a hand absently along the walls. The sunlight shone brightly outside, and the thickness of the air signaled the height of summer approaching.

Somehow, you found yourself at the far corridor of the west wing. Judging by the sun’s position, it could not be later than noon, and so you thought a bit more exploring could not hurt until you were expected to take your midday meal.

This part of the palace was as pristine as the rest of it, just as clean and untouched, but the energy felt different here. Where you previously felt ignored by the few beings that crossed your path in the halls, here you simply felt… alone. It wasn’t a lonely feeling. On the contrary, you felt peace in the solitude.

At the end of this corridor was a large double door, vaulted, heavy and inlaid with colored tile. It was beautiful, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was inside. After checking to see that you were indeed alone, you placed both hands on the beautiful doors and pushed, making your way inside.

The room that revealed itself to you was a vast library, with towering shelves that seemed never-ending. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, so bright and the air so still that you could see the motes of dust floating.

The way the doors creaked and the difficulty in pushing told you that no one had set foot in here for a very long time. You supposed demons did not really have much time or purpose for human literature, though once again you thought of the books in your chambers. Were they Urizen’s? You doubted it when you thought about it. He had not been to those chambers with you, and it seemed in character for him to arrange a whole separate suite of rooms for you, far away from himself.

You looked again to the library you were in. A shame no one seemed to come here, because this place had been built to take advantage of the sunlight. There were tables and chairs for writing, and cozy little alcoves for reading. You could easily picture yourself spending hours here. Your parents had nurtured a love for reading in you, and you felt a prick of loss at the thought of them.

As you lightly ran your fingers across the spines of the books, reading their titles, the dust stirred. Truly, no one had come in here in recent memory but you. You thought maybe this could be your hideaway, far enough that you could feel even a little like yourself again, and still close enough by that you could easily validate your presence here. All these books would help, too, as would the ones in your bedroom, for crafting more of the stories that had somehow ensnared your husband’s attention. And if, by chance, they held magical knowledge as well, you could do some surreptitious research.

Moreover, it was simply a beautiful place. Even if you were not in the clutches of a devil, you would gladly come here every day.

The sun outside heralded the afternoon, and you knew you would be fetched and served lunch. Quietly, you left the library, closing the doors behind you. You could return another time, you thought. For now, you would acquiesce to the expectations (however little there were) of you.

* * *

In the throne room a human was being brought to kneel before the demon king. This man had dared protest his power and struck one of his knights in retaliation. Such insolence demanded punishment, and the decree for him was death.

“Do what you must,” said Urizen. “My power will not be challenged.”

He waved an imperious hand, sprawled as he was on his throne. The guards took the prisoner away, heedless of his piteous cries.

“I did nothing wrong! It was him, he—”

They dragged him to the courtyard, the man’s struggling making a spectacle of the walk. It was just your luck: the window overlooking that courtyard was the one right in front of you.

One of the silent knights struck him across the face with his metal gauntlet. He fell to the ground, and another pulled him onto the chopping block.

His pleas were cut short by the descent of the axe upon his neck.

You stared, barely believing what had happened right in front of your eyes. A man had been killed. You watched the blood spurt, the ground turn red beneath him. Above the body, the branches of a large, leafless tree swayed in the windless air, its bark as white as bone. Red splattered over that bone-white tree, soaked into the earth beneath, and his head rolled on the ground with a heavy thunk.

What had that man done? You weren’t shocked that executions were carried out here at the palace itself, but seeing it was another matter entirely.

Were you going to be next?

You had no stomach for the rest of your meal. You stood, fighting the urge to retch, and took off back to your room. Feeling numb, you hoped that you would not be summoned to attend to your husband in the evening. You weren’t sure you could take another fright in the same day. To distract yourself, you made notes on the story you had started the previous evening, in the case that you would need to provide a continuation. Your mind wandered, far from the confines of the palace walls, as you wove your tale.

Of course, right before you were about to begin your evening toilette, the same devil from the night before came to your room to escort you to Urizen once again. Various other demons came in and out of the palace during the day, but this one was the only one you had encountered at night, not counting the mannequin demons that cleaned and served in the kitchen.

In case this devil was going to remain as your chaperone, you deigned to ask him his name.

“I can’t really say, my lady. But you can call me Tony.”

You noted there was a strange, clipped quality to his words, as if some spell or physicality prevented him from uttering his name. Or maybe you imagined it because demons had different voices than humans. More than that, though—

“Tony?” you echoed. “That’s…” An unusual name for a demon, you were going to say. Much too… human. His face, too, was far more humanlike than the other demons you had encountered.

To your surprise, he chuckled. “A weird name? Sounds better than _Urizen,_ I’d say.”

His nonchalant manner took you off guard. You hadn’t been expecting this at all.

“I only meant that I didn’t expect a devil to have such a normal sounding name,” you explained.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t need to be complicated. Just Tony is fine.”

Before you knew it, you were back again in the great hall, standing before the doors to the throne room. Tony walked ahead of you to open the doors and once again, you saw your husband.

You walked through the large room, one you surmised was the largest one in the entire palace, approaching your spouse. Tony remained outside.

You tried not to let the images from earlier that day distract you too much. The man’s cries. The blood seeping into the ground. The tree that moved by itself.

You nearly crumpled the notes in your hand.

“Wife,” Urizen said, in that deep, dark tone. There was no discernable expression on his obscured face, and none in his voice. You bowed before him and awaited his instruction.

“The tale from yesterday. Continue it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. As long as this remained all he asked of you, you would be okay, probably. Shuffling through your notes, you began to recite the rest of the story.

Again he offered neither comment nor interjection, or really any reaction at all, which you supposed was the best you could hope for at the moment. The plot you’d woven was fairly basic: the hero of this story was torn between his mission and the growing love between him and the lady who had rescued him, and while he was making to leave, the lady asked to accompany him. She wanted to help him, she said. He did not want to get her involved in his problems.

“This is not just about you!” said she. “I lost loved ones in that attack too. And who’s to say they won’t attack this town too—”

“I have a mission. It’s dangerous.”

“With them out there, everywhere is dangerous,” she said. “I am going whether you want me to or not.”

Cursing his mission for vengeance, she left him to seek a new home for her family.

“What a strange tale,” Urizen said.

“Wh-what?” This was the first time he’d spoken about the story itself. You couldn’t tell whether he meant the comment as a compliment, or as a sign he disliked it, and a shiver of panic rose in you.

“If that is all, you may go.”

You weren’t done, but you also didn’t want to go against his word.

“Then I shall resume tomorrow evening, my lord husband.”

He said nothing, only waving his hand in dismissal. You gathered up your notes, bowed hastily, and left the room.

You wondered—why did he decide to comment on the story now? Was there something about the tale he disliked? He had given no clue as to his feelings, as always. His expression had remained inscrutable and distant. Your hands clenched around your books and papers, frustrated.

Tony was nowhere to be found outside. Alone, you walked back to your room, returning to fitful sleep.

* * *

“So? What about it, V?”

There was a crow perched on the top of an armchair in the library, where a young man sat deep in thought.

“Think she’s the one?” the crow asked the young man.

“She has power, I can feel it,” he responded. In his hands he held a book, idly flipping through the pages.

“But what about—"

He interrupted the crow. “She’ll come back. I’ll speak with her then.”

“If you’re sure,” the crow said. “Y’know, I could always fly out there, get her to come if you can’t—”

“No need,” he responded. “What she needs is here. She’ll come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's title comes from [this poem,](https://poets.org/poem/landscape-blur-conquerors) again by richard siken. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed the first chapter <3 thanks for reading!


	2. little else but my assiduous fear to cherish

The next day, after your morning meal, you took off again to the library. You were going to continue last night’s tale—or would you have to create a new one? You didn’t know if your husband were pleased with it, and the last thing you wished to suffer was his displeasure. Either way, you carried a stack of books from your room, and your papers. Today you were going to write.

In the library you put down your things on one of the desks and walked around the shelves, looking for books that might pique your interest, pulling out a few. After a while of perusal, you became aware of a feeling: that you were not the only person in the room.

You whirled around, but no one was behind you. At the end of an aisle, you thought you saw movement, so you pursued. Still your furtive companion remained unseen. Further attempts proved similarly fruitless; you were probably seeing things. Sleep deprivation was becoming a very real threat, with the writing and reciting that you were doing every day.

You shook your head and directed your attention to the shelf you’d ended up in front of. It was full of poetry books. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him: dark hair, a black cloak. You turned to see, but he had disappeared.

“Who’s there?” you asked uncertainly. You weren’t even sure if the apparition had been real.

Then, a low, soft voice spoke. “I have no name; I am but two days old...”

Poetry? The lines were spoken measuredly, lyrically. In vain, you tried to look around once more, find the source of the voice, when suddenly the person appeared before you.

“Just kidding. You can call me V.”

You gasped and fell backwards, a hand clutched to the pendant at your chest. The mysterious one was a young man, dressed all in black, and now he was leaning down to offer a hand to your fallen form. You stared at him a few moments, before cautiously taking that hand and allowing him to pull you up.

“You scared me,” you said. “I didn’t expect anyone to be in here—I was told—”

“I am aware,” he said, stooping to pick up some of the books you had dropped. “no one comes to this library, not anymore.” He stacked them neatly in his arms. “You must be the first to come here, and—” turning back to the rows of books on the shelves, “—with the purpose of reading.” He placed your books carefully on the desk, eyes scanning the titles as he did.

He was certainly handsome, you thought, in a delicate, pretty way. His black hair fell in waves in front of his eyes, partly obscuring his features, and he was tall, slender and long-limbed. Of note were the multitudes of tattoos inked across his arms, and from what you could see, his chest and neck. A silver cane rested on the shelf next to him. You’d never seen him before; you’d certainly have remembered if you had, but somehow, he seemed strangely familiar.

“Then, what about you?” you asked, reaching for the rest of your books and putting them on the desk. You burned with questions: who was this enigmatic young man, and if no one was supposed to be in the library, what was he doing here?

“What about me?” he echoed, a smirk pulling at his full lips. “I am but a specter with a love for literature.”

You couldn’t tell if that were a joke or not, not with the expression he wore. Uncomfortably, you were reminded of the harsh words your husband had said to you the night before, the ones you also couldn’t tell if they were said in jest or seriousness. _What a strange tale._

“Tell me,” V continued, “what does a young woman like yourself have to do with this wretched place?”

“Wretched?” Was this a test to see if you were going to slander your lord husband in his home, albeit in a practically abandoned corner of it? “Certainly the palace is very beautiful—”

“I do not speak of the palace. I speak of its ruler.” You blanched at the mention of your husband. “Urizen.”

He looked at you again, and you felt pierced by those striking green eyes. “You are not like him or the others that roam these halls. What are you doing here?”

“You… you don’t know?” It was almost common knowledge by now that the king had taken a wife. Perhaps this V person truly remained secluded, here in this library, without connection to the outside world.

“I am the devil king’s wife.”

He raised an eyebrow. “His… wife? Urizen’s?”

“It was an arranged marriage,” you hastened to add. Certainly, this was true, and you could not be punished for saying so. “We were married only a few days ago.”

“I see,” he said, a thoughtful look creasing his brow. “And you are… human?”

“Fully, yes.” A small part of you wanted to trust V. There was no trace of dishonesty in his expressions, you thought, or at least, nothing malicious towards you. You felt, though, that it would be prudent to keep your more supernatural abilities to yourself for the time being.

“Very interesting,” he said. “You are the first one I have met.” He had sidled up beside you and was now browsing the books on the shelf in front of you. “And how has it been? Married to the demon king?”

You considered your words carefully. “Very strange,” you admitted. “If being married to a giant devil under pain of death could be described as anything else.”

V chuckled. It was a deep, rich sound, and it was attractive. “Perhaps it would go without saying.”

The traces of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. This was the first time you had found anything humorous about your absurd situation.

“Besides that,” you said, “he seems to be fond of stories.”

“Is that so?” V asked, his attention once again fully on you. “How fascinating.”

You went on to describe to him how you had found the books in your room, and how they had given you the idea of telling him stories to prevent him disposing of you, and what Urizen had said that day when your betrothal had been made. You thought to tell him of the rumors, that his previous wives’ blood was being harvested for some unknown nefarious purpose, but it was risky. You weren’t yet sure how much you could safely reveal to this man, as friendly as he might seem.

He nodded. “You have made a wise decision,” he said. “You are correct that Urizen likes stories. Or, at least, he once did.”

This intrigued you. “What do you mean?”

He pulled a book from the shelf, flipping through its pages. “Would you believe me if I said that Urizen was once a man?”

“A man? Do you mean, he used to be human?”

“Yes and no,” V replied cryptically, “but that man, he sought power, and within himself wrought consequences he could not have foreseen.”

V’s voice had taken on a quiet, melancholy tone. Standing there, in the sunlight, he looked so pale he was almost translucent, the image of him fading around the edges. It gave him an ethereal quality, enough to make you question whether he was really here.

“The man is gone, now. He is wholly a demon.”

You noticed he had stopped on a page, eyes skimming over the passage. His dark locks obscured his expression from you, but then once again you heard him speak:

“’Cruelty has a human heart,  
And Jealousy a human face;  
Terror the human form divine,  
And Secrecy the human dress.’”

You listened to his even tone, his lilting, musical reading of the lines. He had the voice for poetry, you thought, soothing and low.

“Which poem is that?” you asked.

 _“A Divine Image_ by William Blake,” he answered, showing you the book. It was a simple, slim tome, bound in brown leather, with a large V on its cover. “Even the strongest men are susceptible to pain, to fear. To lose something…”

You looked at him. You wondered what had happened to Urizen, what V meant by pain and fear. You could not imagine Urizen as a human, and not even what could cause a man to become… that.

Your eyes drifted again over the poem printed on the page. “What happened to him?” you asked, whispering almost to yourself.

V looked at you, but offered no answer. Instead he said, “Where do you get your stories?”

“S-Sorry?” You hadn’t expected him to ask you this. He repeated his question.

“I write them… Well, I have only been telling him one—a tale long enough that it takes more than one evening to tell,” you said. “I was unable to finish it last night, though… I suspect he disliked the latest part because he said it was strange.”

“Continue it,” V said, surprising you with his curtness. “Strange does not mean bad. He hasn’t told you not to continue the story, has he?”

“He hasn’t,” you confirmed.

“Good. Follow what he says, for now.”

 _For now?_ What did that mean? You asked him as much.

“It means what it says. You’ve survived thus far.”

“Then tell me,” you said, “what you know about Urizen. I’ve never heard of such a demon.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Who—or what—is he,” you said. “Why does he want to kill people?”

Instead of answering you right away, V went over to the window, pointing to where the enormous white tree, somehow visible from every part of the castle, breached through the cobbled stone, interrupting the middle of the palace courtyard.

“That tree,” he said, “is called the Qliphoth. In demonology, it is a tree that grows in the Underworld. At its maturity, it produces a fruit that grants its consumer with divine power.”

You nodded. This you were familiar with. “And Urizen wants to take this fruit?”

“Yes. The last one to partake of it was Mundus,” here he glanced at you, “the last king of the Underworld.”

You stood next to V, frowning at the tree lanced through the earth. As you stared at it, you realized that this grew like no other tree—what you were seeing, above the ground, were its _roots._

“The… the tree is upside down,” you said, dumbfounded.

“It is,” V confirmed. “The tree thrives on human blood. Its roots,” he traced their path in the air with a finger, “grow this way to seek out sustenance.”

“…And how long until it grows fruit?”

He considered the Qliphoth and said, “He has been closely following its cultivation ever since the Underworld. Perhaps… a month? Two?”

You gnawed your lip. That wasn’t much time at all, especially considering that you had no idea just what you were up against. V’s cryptic answers had just confused you even more. You had to get more information out of this man, you decided. You’d have to get him to trust you, somehow.

You looked to the desk where you’d left your books and papers. “I need to write,” you half-lied. “To continue the tale.” And to continue searching for spells and information that might help you.

“Of course,” V said, another small smirk making its way onto his face. “Do not hesitate on my account.”

“Would you… mind helping me?”

He looked at you curiously. “What sort of help do you think I could give?”

The question was more hypothetical than sarcasm, from the frankness of his tone. “You seem to know my husband,” you said, “and obviously, you have a good taste for literature yourself.” You nodded at the Blake anthology in his hands. He smirked.

“You flatter me,” he said, but he agreed to your request. “Very well. I admit, I am… curious, as to what you have written for him.”

The afternoon was… nice, you could admit, in this library tucked away in a corner of the palace that nobody apparently visited. And the company was nice, too. He had asked about the story you were working on, and seemed genuinely invested in the characters, pointing out parts that needed improvement, and praising those that he felt were particularly strong, or which he liked.

Even in spite of your ulterior motives, you felt that V could be a friend to you, in this lonely, frightening castle. God knows you needed one, even one that seemed as eccentric as he. You hoped he would be here again tomorrow, and the next day as well… He was a good writing partner, and, admittedly, you found him attractive. At the very least, he _did_ have good feedback for your writing, and he seemed to have some familiarity with Urizen’s tastes… strangely enough. You wanted to find out how he knew your husband so closely, especially since he seemed human and hadn’t been present at your wedding.

By dusk you felt you had made some good progress on your stories, thanks to V’s help.

“Thank you very much,” you said, smiling, and bowed your head. “You were a great help. I hope my lord husband will like tonight’s tale.”

“I think he will,” he replied, that mysterious small smile again on his lips. “I have a feeling.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” you asked.

“I can see you here, in the library,” he said, his green eyes luminous in the fading light. “Will you grace me with your company once more?”

“I was hoping to,” you answered with a smile. “I enjoyed this afternoon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He glanced outside, to where the sun was beginning to slip behind a mountain. “Have a good evening.” His expression was warm when he looked back at you.

“And you too, V.”

You gathered up your things and left the library, once again feeling the oppressive atmosphere press increasingly upon you with every step you took out of the west wing and back to the main palace. Your dinner would be served in a short while, though you had no companions to be tardy for. You walked slowly, not rushing to return to where your husband stayed.

You bathed and dressed for dinner mechanically. The process was gradually becoming routine for you. Tony arrived again, the same time as before, escorting you to the dining hall.

“Will you be having dinner, too?” you asked him, the first thing you could think of. Tony chuckled, heartily but briefly.

“No. I’m just bringing you. I can’t stay, Urizen wouldn’t allow it.”

There was a strange hesitation at the name, and you were surprised that he dared say it so candidly.

You looked at the devil at your side. “Are you familiar with my husband?” you asked.

Tony watched your expression, the ridge of his brow rising. “’Course,” he said, “I work for him, don’t I?”

“I mean, are you…” _Friends_ seemed like much too simple a word, strangely childish when you tried to attach it to the hulking blue devil. “Have you known him long?”

Tony looked away from you then, his fiery eyes growing uncharacteristically pensive. “…Yeah. I’ve known him practically my whole life.”

You sensed something else behind his words, a weight far heavier than that of lord and servant. However, you can’t begin to imagine what it could possibly be. If V was telling the truth… that Urizen had once been human, maybe Tony had also known him then. If your assumption was right, then he, too, could be a valuable source of information.

He opened the tall doors to the empty dining hall. “After you.”

You thanked him and sat down. Dinner was already on the table, and not another soul was in sight. You felt a longing for V’s presence, if only so you didn’t have to take dinner alone.

“…Tony?” you called before he could leave you. “I… I know you can’t stay, but I wanted to ask you something.” He paused in the doorway.

“What is it?”

“In the west wing… the library,” you said. “Does anyone go there? Regularly?”

He frowned. “No. No servants there, either.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. Your ghost theory was now beginning to sound more likely… “All right. Thank you, Tony.”

With a last farewell he left, the big door swinging shut behind him. Once again you were alone, and you had to wonder whether V really was a ghost, perhaps conjured by your own mind in a desperate desire for companionship. Maybe your imagination was becoming overactive in this maddening situation. Perhaps your powers of divination had suddenly expanded, allowing you to talk to spirits of people long gone. But as far as hallucinations went, you could really have done worse for yourself. At least this apparition was friendly and helped you with your stories.

You were able to eat more dinner tonight. You were finally feeling somewhat at ease in your new life, with no small thanks to V, even if he had been a ghost. And, admittedly, you were curious how your husband would receive tonight’s story, since V had helped you write it. Hopefully, his advice would prove useful.

You returned to your chamber. Oddly, Tony was nowhere in sight, and you assumed he would again escort you to your rooms.

You didn’t know how long you had been waiting, but you were sitting in a large, comfortable armchair and getting sleepy, and Tony had still not shown up to bring you to Urizen. It was strange, and when you remembered your husband’s reaction the night before, rather concerning. The thought that your husband might kill you tonight quickly cleared any fatigue from your mind.

* * *

Beneath the castle keep, in a chamber far, far from yours, Urizen kept court. Said court consisted of himself and two hunters who, for all their bravery and skill, found themselves no match for the king of hell itself. 

The demon king was slouched on his throne. The throne was different from the one in palace; this one was a seat growing from the gnarled, enormous roots of the white tree that swayed above. The ground was slick, dark with the cloying scent of blood. The Qliphoth took over this enormous room, its roots drinking the blood that spilt over, feeding its power to its master.

Urizen waved his hand. The tree took away the two hunters, tendrils curling around their bodies until they were out of sight. Though they held considerable power of their own, they had been no match for him.

Working his magic, he reached through his connection to the Qliphoth, getting to work on his new acquisitions. One was a demon; he could feel the mark of the Underworld on her, a now-familiar brand. The other was human, but her blood was special. Useful, for his purposes, and it was much better that he had brought them under his heel than to let them run amok to oppose his rule.

His thoughts, unbidden, drifted to the human that had taken up residence in his house. He would find a way to make use of her soon, and if not, he could simply feed her blood to the tree. He sensed something about her, something different. Whether it lay in her blood, like the huntress he had just captured, or because of some other quality she possessed, he didn’t yet know. He soon would, he determined. He hated not knowing such things. Everything had to have its place, and all those would be underneath him.

Power, incarnate. He had felled Mundus, Prince of Darkness, and dethroned the Emperor of Hell. With the Qliphoth’s growing power his alone to take, soon no one would be left to oppose him, neither from hell nor from earth.

* * *

Despite yourself, you had fallen asleep in the armchair in your room, too exhausted from nerves to stay awake any longer. You woke and realized what had happened at the sight of daylight streaming through the window.

You had not been called on by your husband. You had been left alone that night, and now you were here in the same spot you had slept, awake instead of dead. After that night’s anxiety, that was a victory, as far as you were concerned. The past few days since then, your evenings had not been interrupted by the summons of your husband.

Your thoughts drifted to the man you’d met in the library. Even though V looked human, there was something about him that also felt different. Like… maybe he was a demon, with a human face, though you didn’t yet feel confident enough to ask him. Or maybe he was a ghost… seeing how suddenly he had appeared to you, and that you had never seen him before. Perhaps his presence (or his memory) was why no one ever went to the west wing of the castle, though you thought that superstition was rather uncharacteristic for Urizen, as unfamiliar with your husband as you were.

At this, you thought of the small insights V had offered on Urizen’s character, and an outlandish idea came to you. _Maybe V is Urizen’s lost soul,_ and you allowed yourself a little snort. No, that was ridiculous. You couldn’t think of two people whose character was any less similar; the only thing in common you could think of were the stories.

 _“…A Poison Tree?”_ you asked V in the library, sneaking a peek over his shoulder at the page he’d opened his book to. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

He gave no response except to allow one corner of his mouth to twitch upwards.

“Is it not thematic?” he said. “We are researching the Qliphoth, quite literally a tree—and our foe, unfortunately, is also your husband. Unless you plan to let him know of his wife’s deceit…?”

“Of course not,” you sighed, flicking at the page. You leaned your hip against the table. “But, you know, doing this work keeps my mind off the fact that I am, quite literally—” you raised a brow at him “—a sacrificial lamb.”

“Is that so?”

“’The busy bee has no time for sorrow,’” you replied to him. He raised an eyebrow, smiling himself.

 _“Proverbs of Hell._ I see you’re using my weapons against me.”

You seated yourself across from him, leaning your chin on your hand. “Do you ever read anyone other than Blake?” you asked, letting a little smirk curl your lips.

“Of course I do,” he said. “He simply happens to be my favorite.”

“Mmm.” You nodded. “So you’re fond of Romantic poetry?”

“He likes Shakespeare!” Griffon yelled from atop another shelf. V shook his head.

“Wrong century, though he isn’t incorrect,” he said. “I enjoy Shakespeare’s works, as well as Shelley, Smith, and Yeats.”

He then advised you on what kinds of stories would capture your husband, the kinds of spells you might want to try. The days passed by in a blur of waking and heading to the library to read and write, then eating dinner alone and going to bed alone. Every night, you made sure to be prepared if your husband decided to call for you again, but he hadn’t. The anxiety you felt could not have been healthy for your nerves. Daytime was easier, when you were able to spend time with V. You often took his recommendations and advice to write stories that your husband would be compelled to listen to.

* * *

Since for the past few days you hadn’t seen your husband, you also hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Tony, the red demon who seemed to be the only other inhabitant in this castle. Moreover, wandering the castle halls, between the library and your room, was becoming repetitive. Through the palace windows, you’d seen a large, sprawling garden behind the estate, overgrown with vegetation. Beyond that, the land sloped down from where the castle was perched on the top of a hill overlooking Red Grave. There was still that tree, that infernal white monstrosity breaching the stones of the central courtyard.

You found yourself missing home, not for the first time, even though you still rankled at the idea that your aunt and uncle would so readily give you away. They had some old-fashioned ideas about duty, you knew, and under their roof, you hadn’t had much choice.

It still hurt.

The war had not been easy on your aunt and uncle, and the people of the city had come to their doorstep, practically begging them—and you—to concede to the devil king. You were hardly surprised. After all, witches were known to be servants of the people, individuals you could approach for potions or a spell in exchange for payment. This, however, was a little more drastic. The rumors about your husband were many, and none of them were good. Some said he had no heart, and that he drank the blood of everyone he slew. Now, because of V, you knew that it was not he himself, but the Qliphoth that drained the blood from men’s veins.

You’d followed the occupation of your mother before you, though with her passing they had begun to turn to you in her place. You couldn’t say no after seeing all these people, despondent and desperate for even a sliver of hope, and you couldn’t say no in front of your aunt and uncle, who had taken you in during so difficult a time and had expectations for you.

_Hide your magic. Yield to his demands._

_Your life is no longer your own._

Was it selfish, to not want to die? You hardly found dignity in laying down arms and waiting for death.

Spending time with V had been an unexpected bright spot in your bleak days here in the castle. You had quite a few things in common, you found, mainly in your shared love of literature. You discovered that while you were fond of writing, V preferred to read. You wrote mostly in prose, while V liked reading poetry most. Something you hadn’t told him yet was that you particularly liked when he read poetry to you; something about his voice and the way he spoke when he did made you feel relaxed, like the world slowed down and clung like honey to his every word. You could almost forget your near-impossible task, when the two of you were this way.

As you dressed and freshened up for the day, your eyes caught on the crystal that hung at your neck. You could still feel the protective ward you had placed on it, the gentle hum of magic calming you. You remembered the red crystal that Urizen kept at his side: that enormous, jagged thing, glittering cruelly as it revolved within its own orbit at his side. There was something about it, something you couldn’t quite identify. Even with all your knowledge, you had simply never heard of a demon named Urizen, nor such a weapon, if your guess on the red crystal’s purpose was correct. That would be the first order of the day, then: research. Maybe this castle’s library would yield information you hadn’t previously been privy to. As long as Urizen kept ignoring you, that would just make your task easier, and if you could somehow gain a clue as to V’s mysterious origins, all the more. _Better the devil you know,_ you thought to yourself.

* * *

The underground rooms of the palace were cavernous and hastily dug, but the demon king hardly minded the aesthetics of his surroundings. Beneath the earth, he could be closer to the origin of the Qliphoth from where it grew in the Underworld. He had broken the seal Sparda had placed between the human and demon worlds and now he was simply waiting for the tree’s fruition.

The breaking of the Hellgate in Fortuna had turned out to be fortuitous for him. He hadn’t been there when it happened—no, in truth he had no recollection of much, all those years ago—but he had spun the situation to his advantage. He knew, that with the breaking of the barriers between the worlds, it would only be a matter of time until the Qliphoth, dormant for so long, would be able to manifest fully and produce its fruit. The tree only did so once every few thousand years, and only ever grew one fruit. Once Urizen had partaken of it, only then could he truly claim dominion over all the living creatures on this world and the one below.

Still, there was much work to be done between then and now. Fortuna had held out; he surmised it was because of their knights’ experience in fighting demons. Fortuna was too valuable to be left in the rule of the Order of the Sword, however: Sparda’s influence over the island, as well as the demonic power and artifacts he had left there, could prove to be troublesome if he did not bring them to heel. With his new acquisitions, the solution was easy: he would send Cavaliere Angelo and Artemis to take Fortuna. Dante was too valuable to let go, and the strength of his blood would be a valuable asset once he had crushed the last of his fighting will. Urizen knew it was still there, and such resistance could not be borne. If he could not take Dante’s blood, then he would settle for his utter defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is from _[other lives and dimensions and finally a love poem](http://www.pa56.org/ross/hicok.htm)_ by bob hicok. one of my personal favorites, btw, highly recommended read!
> 
> the excerpt v recites is from _[a divine image](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45953/a-divine-image)_ by william blake. other blake poems mentioned in this chapter are _[a poison tree](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45952/a-poison-tree)_ (from which dmc5's epigraph is also taken) and _[proverbs of hell](https://poets.org/poem/proverbs-hell),_ which v often quotes in-game.
> 
> as always, thank you for reading. <3


End file.
